


I Am Your Wrath

by goddessofcruelty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Psychopaths In Love, Serial Killer Peter Hale, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, mental manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 06:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2014959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris Argent sits gingerly on the rock, favoring the cracked ribs on his left side as he does so, and looks up at the stars shining out from the clear sky. He remembers the stories his mother used to tell about the stars, hearing her softly accented voice at his bedside. He laughs, a short bitter laugh, and leans forward, hissing as his shirt sticks to the open wounds on his back, to grab the bottle of whiskey from the ground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am Your Wrath

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Psychopaths In Love

Chris Argent sits gingerly on the rock, favoring the cracked ribs on his left side as he does so, and looks up at the stars shining out from the clear sky. He remembers the stories his mother used to tell about the stars, hearing her softly accented voice at his bedside. He laughs, a short bitter laugh, and leans forward, hissing as his shirt sticks to the open wounds on his back, to grab the bottle of whiskey from the ground.

It takes half the bottle before he starts feeling the blessed numbness, and Chris closes his eyes and breathes comfortably for the first time in the hours since his father had taken offense at his 'laziness'. Argents don't take nights off to do normal teenage things. They train and train, and then train some more. Argents don't get to have relationships, especially not with other boys. That goes double for werewolves.

He gingerly stretches, gasping at the pull. Nope, not drunk enough yet. But the ground is getting a little wobbly, so he slides off the rock, lays down in the cool grass.

The cracks in his ribs and stripes from Gerard's belt will heal with time, so too the livid marks of fingers around his throat, and the split in his lip. The words, though, that's a poison he will never recover from, he thinks. Chris imagines himself as an adult, still Hunting, hearing his father's voice in his head, telling him all the ways in which he's not good enough.

He doesn't hear the footsteps, sense anything until there's a shadow falling across his face, blocking out the sky. Chris waves his hand ineffectually. “Out the way. Lookin' at stars.”

“You're drunk,” comes the soft voice, and Chris furrows a brow. He lifts the whiskey, studies it.

“Not yet. Not til it's all gone.”

“That might kill you.”

“Nah, bloodloss'll get me first.”

“...blood loss?”

“M' Dad found out.”

Chris protests as he's moved, mumbles something about being comfortable as he's sat up, as his jacket is peeled off. He swears as the bloody shirt is tugged, and the silence behind him is so long Chris thinks maybe he's all alone again. He shrugs and takes another swig from the bottle.

“Does it hurt?”

Chris shrugs. “Nope. Not anymore.” Another drink and he's swaying where he's sitting up. “Sides he only used his hands. Took an iron bar to me 'fore. None of this'll kill me. Was in the hospital for a week.”

He might be to the babbling stage of drunkenness by now.

“I'm going to kill him.”

Chris snorts. “You don’t kill innocents. That's why you are still alive.”

“He's no innocent.”

Chris swipes as his bottle is lifted away from him. “Hey, mine.”

“Run away with me.”

Chris thinks about it. “Where?”

“Does it matter?”

-

Chris wakes up in pain. His head is throbbing, his side is screaming with every breath he takes, and his back twinges. It gets worse when he tries to stand, not recognizing the cabin he's at. For a minute he thinks maybe they got away, and then a fist slams into the side of his face, and he's down, crashing through a chair, head hitting the hard wood of the desk, which doesn't help the situation in his head at all.

There's a steel toed boot making contact with his cracked ribs, and Chris blacks out for an indeterminate amount of time. He comes to just in time to feel the baseball bat make contact with his shin.

Chris never makes a sound. But something inside him breaks, shatters, tears asunder.

He comes up with pieces of the chair in both hands, striking his father across the face with one, and then stabbing the other into his gut. He's not sure what happens after that, because the next thing he is cognizant of is a voice calling his name and the squelch of the bat as it smashes down into something that used to be a human being.

“Christopher.”

He looks up to see golden eyes shining out of the darkness. And then he sees the blood spatter coating the walls, covering himself, it's everywhere.

The bat clangs as it slowly drops to the floor. He looks down, falls to his knees. “Dad..?” Chris' voice cracks as he takes in what he's done.

There's a hand stroking through his hair, carefully taking the bat from him. “Shh, it's alright. Sit down.”

Chris lets himself be settled on the bed, pale blue eyes glued to his father's form until there's a body interposed between, only then does he look up as a wet cloth swipes down the side of his face.

“You were magnificent.” The words are breathed into his ear, and then he's being pushed backwards, a mouth hot against his.

Chris doesn't protest as his things are removed, he's numb until jeans are tugged against what's surely a broken leg. His cries of pain are hushed with hungry kisses, and he's completely devoid of clothing before he realizes.

Pills are fed to him, rims of a water glass pressed to his lips. Chris drinks, swallows automatically, and then closes his eyes as a blanket is tucked up around his shivering form.

“Rest now. I'll take care of everything.”

-

Chris wakes up to a knock on the door. He has a long five seconds of panic before he sees that the entire cabin in spotless. And he's completely alone.

The knock comes again, more insistent, and he shuffles to the door, opening it just a inch before recognizing his girlfriend's face.

“Vic, what are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same. You don't get to just ditch me like that, Christopher.”

“Impromptu trip,” he mumbles as she steps past him.

“Lie,” she says succinctly. “Your dad would never let you miss a week of school.”

“A...week?” Chris blinks.

She looks at him, eyes raking over his torso and then stalks around to his back. “Training again?”

Chris stiffens and nods. She's from a Hunting family, she _knows_.

“C'mon, we're leaving.” She starts gathering up clothing that Chris doesn't remember bringing with him.

He hears a low growl from the doorway, and Chris closes his eyes. “Vic, you need to leave _now_. It's not safe for you here.”

She ignores the dangerous sound arrogantly, just keeps packing. “ _We_ are leaving.”

“No.” He steps between them, and shakes his head. “I'm staying here.”

She looks up and sets her jaw, and the snarling behind him intensifies.

“Victoria, _please_.”

She stalks forward and grabs his upper arm firmly. “You're coming with me, Chris.”

Not the brightest move she's ever made. Before Chris can react, Victoria is shoved down, and her eyes widen as claws come out, and she screams his name. He pleads for the assault to stop, but it's unending.

When it's over, and Victoria breathes no more, Chris pulls her limp body to him and holds her tightly. “Why didn't you just _listen_ to me?”

Settling her down carefully, he rounds on the perpetrator. “You didn't have to do that! I wasn't going to go with her.”

The voice is calm, no sign of the snarling rage. “I couldn't take that chance. Now she'll never bother us again. And there's nothing holding you to Beacon Hills.” There's a moment of silence. “And Christopher. No more girls. Or they'll end up like that.”

-

Chris finds out that he really, really means it, when the hunter walks in to see the corpse of his baby sister, torn apart in the same way as the others.

“Oh god, fuck, _Katie._ ” He rushes to check her for some sign of life but in vain. Chris curls up and cries while the mess is cleaned.

“We need to leave this place, Christopher. Too many people are finding us.”

He chokes on his sobs. “She was my sister, she didn't need to die.”

A soft hand ghosts over his cheek. “She would have taken you away.”

He has nothing to say to that, but closes his eyes and leans into the touch. Chris gives his sister a Hunter's burial, burns the entire cabin down.

They make love for the first time that night, out in the middle of the forest, watching the blaze.

Chris' cheek is pressed to the ground, eyes wide open to see the flames, as fingers spread him open. He wraps a hand around his cock, strokes it in time to the thrusts from behind, whimpering softly until he's given permissions to come.

Chris collapses to the ground, the weight of his lover a warm soothing blanket as his fingers are pulled into a hot mouth and sucked clean.

“You're mine now, Christopher,” the low voice growls into his ear, “always.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration: Shepherd Of Fire by Avenged Sevenfold
> 
> Please let me know if I need to tag anything. 
> 
> [Tumblr](goddessofcruelty.tumblr.com)


End file.
